


I've shaken off my chains

by blackkat



Series: Zabrak Bros prompts [4]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Pining, Rescue Missions, in relation to the Nightsisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “I'm not going tostay with the ship,” Anakin says, outraged.Savage closes his eyes, not quite praying for patience, but—reaching for it, certainly. Having a padawan has been good for his self-control in ways Savage hasn’t even wanted to consider too closely.
Relationships: Feral & Savage Opress, Savage Opress & Anakin Skywalker, Savage Opress/Jon Antilles
Series: Zabrak Bros prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941697
Comments: 31
Kudos: 700
Collections: Star Wars Alternate Universes





	I've shaken off my chains

“I'm not going to _stay with the ship_ ,” Anakin says, outraged.

Savage closes his eyes, not quite praying for patience, but—reaching for it, certainly. Having a padawan has been good for his self-control in ways Savage hasn’t even wanted to consider too closely.

“Anakin,” he says, as even as possible. “Dathomir isn't a safe world for _any_ male. Especially near the Nightsisters.”

“But _you're_ going.” Anakin stares at him, as stubborn as Maul has ever managed to be, and Savage would have left him at the Temple and taken this mission alone, but—

Well. Maul offered to watch him. Anakin is already too similar to Maul on the best of days. Savage exists in a state of mild terror over what _extended_ exposure will do to both of them.

“I'm a Zabrak, and I was a Nightbrother,” Savage says. “I know how to pass unnoticed.”

Anakin looks as unimpressed as a thirteen-year-old boy can. “If you're not going to be noticed, then it’s fine, right?”

Savage snorts softly, raising a brow at him, and after a beat Anakin gives him a quick, unrepentant smile. “You're going to free your brother,” he says, and there's a strange intensity in his face. “Of course I'm going to help, Master.”

For a long moment, Savage considers him. “This is about your mother,” he says, despite the way his chest twists. Getting word that he _had_ another brother remaining on Dathomir was enough of a shock. Learning that a Jedi had also been captured trying to free him from the Nightsisters’ imprisonment was only more motivation to help, but—

Anakin only just found out that his mother was freed, that she married, that she built another life. He’s still reeling, in some ways, and Savage is wary about taking him into any sort of situation that might upset him further. Meditation can only go so far where Anakin is concerned.

Anakin hesitates for a long moment, then huffs. “Not…really,” he says reluctantly.

Savage just raises a brow, because he understands better than most what it’s like to escape a terrible situation like slavery and have to leave loved ones behind, all the powerlessness and mixed relief that comes with that escape. Plo hadn’t been able to smuggle Maul off with him, when he found Savage, and it took a solid year to retrieve him.

Their mother had another child in that time, and Savage never even _knew_.

“I just want to help,” Anakin says, and meets Savage’s eyes squarely. “You helped me find my mom, so I want to help you find your brother.”

“Mind your emotions,” Savage says, knee-jerk at this point more than anything, but—it can always stand to be said around Anakin. Savage has tried to let Anakin see all the times Savage struggles, all the effort he makes to redirect his rage, but it’s difficult sometimes for Anakin to connect with others. “This is about your mother, not just my brother.”

The expression that crosses Anakin's face is a definite pout, on the borders of a sulk, but he says, “Yes, Master,” dutifully, and doesn’t argue.

Small steps towards progress, Savage reminds himself with a sigh, and reaches out, hauling Anakin's hood up over his head. “Keep that on,” he warns, and when Anakin starts to grin, Savage gives him a severe look. “Dathomir is _dangerous_ , Anakin,” he says. “The Nightsisters _especially_.” He was lucky, because Plo found him before he grew, but—Savage remembers enough of what went on to feel sick at the mere _thought_ of the Nightsisters catching either of them. he’s been trying very, very desperately not to think about them having caught this unknown brother. This unknown brother who led a _revolution_ , and made himself the witches’ greatest enemy in the process.

“Your brother will be all right,” Anakin says with a confidence Savage can't even imagine feeling.

For a moment, Savage doesn’t answer. Just looks out the open ramp of the ship, into the red mists of the world he’d thought was behind him forever, and then breathes out.

“We’re not just here for my brother,” he says, and it’s true. “There’s a Jedi here who was called to investigate the case the Nightbrothers made to the Senate, and the Nightsisters took them as well.” He flips up his own hood, heading down into the swamp, and Anakin follows closely.

“Did they tell you who it was, Master?” Anakin asks, carefully picking his way across the sucking mud. Savage’s feet remember the method, even if he’d thought his brain didn’t, but he takes care not to outpace Anakin as they approach the edge of the Temple. Several dozen Nightsisters left on their speeders a short while ago, likely for a meeting with the rest of the witch tribes, and Savage grimly hopes that the witches remember halfway through that the Nightsisters are a heretic tribe, their help against the males breaking away not worth the stigma of the other tribes consorting with those who use the Dark Side. Not that he has high hopes about that.

Feral’s rebellion is spreading. They might have captured him, might have taken the Jedi who was meant to bring their case to the Senate, but they haven’t done more than energize those who want change. Savage has never looked at Dathomir and felt anything close to hope, but—this is enough to inspire some. Just a little, but—it’s there.

“No,” he says, quiet, and pauses at the edge of the twisted trees, studying the entrance to the Nightsisters’ temple. It’s guarded by a pair of Nightsisters in red robes, and Savage takes a breath, then rolls his shoulders to loosen the tension he’s carrying. Fear is sharp in his stomach, but he breathes through it, doesn’t let terror or rage rule him. If something goes wrong, he’s not a helpless Nightbrother anymore. He can defend himself, and he can defend Anakin.

“Head down,” he says, low. “Whatever they say, don’t let them see your face.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin says, tense, but he ducks his head, pulls his cloak more tightly around himself.

Savage strips his off, trying not to feel exposed by the lack of Jedi robes, the rough, patched clothes that were the best approximation of a Nightbrother’s only garments that he could find in the Jedi Temple. Carefully folding the cloak around his lightsaber, he hands it to Anakin, and says, “Hold it like it’s heavy. Close to you—don’t let them see your skin.”

Carefully, Anakin arranges the cloak, his arms, and Savage breathes out his nerves, tugs Anakin's hood a little further forward, and starts across the open area between the swamp and the temple.

As soon as he comes into view, both of the Nightsisters on guard straighten, spears coming up. One steps forward, graceful and deadly, and says, “What business do you have here, brother?”

Instantly, Savage ducks low, twists himself into a low bow. “One called Karis summoned me, Sister,” he says, and it’s only too much practice undercover with Quinlan that makes his voice any acceptable version of subservient. “I was told to wait in her chambers.”

The Nightsister on the right snorts, posture easing. “Karis,” she says, amused. “That sounds like her.” She casts a slow, dragging look over Savage, then says, “She always does pick the muscular ones.”

The other one laughs, planting the butt of her spear in the dirt. “If she doesn’t kill you afterwards, come find me,” she tells Savage, with all the weight of an order, and there’s a sharp edge to her smirk. “My name is Nuis. I’m afraid Karis and I have the same type.”

“You just like what Karis has,” the other Nightsister retorts, and Nuis rolls her eyes, but waves Savage forward. Savage takes a step—

“Wait,” Nuis says, and her spear blocks Savage’s path again. “What about him?”

“My little brother,” Savage says without hesitation, feels the brush of her mind against his, and thinks of Maul at Anakin's age, all bony edges and petulance. “To help me back to the village. Afterwards.”

Nuis snorts. “That _definitely_ sounds like Karis,” she drawls. “Boy. Help him to my chambers afterwards. Don’t let him _forget_.”

Silent, Anakin ducks his head, and Savage says, partially to distract her, “I wouldn’t forget, Sister.”

She smirks at him. “You're not going to be able to think of much when Karis is through with you,” she counters, and steps forward. Savage holds himself very, very still as she grips his chin, turning his face to one side and then the other. “It’s almost a shame,” she says, and lets go. “Karis gets all the good toys.”

One _week_ less training with Master Windu and Savage might react, might let his fury swallow him and blow their cover, but he’s a better Jedi than that. he _has_ had the training, and he breathes through it, and he doesn’t let it control him, because this is about more than just the Nightsisters. This is about all of Dathomir. This is about another Jedi. This is about Savage’s _brother_.

“Get better at something and you might get the good toys, too,” the other Nightsister retorts, and Nuis growls, turning on her. Savage doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the distraction; he ducks through the temple entrance, one hand locked around Anakin's shoulder, and ruthlessly crushes the urge to scrub at his skin where Nuis touched him.

“Master?” Anakin asks, low, and there's an edge of vibrating fury to it.

Savage doesn’t release his shoulder, just glances behind them to make sure no one is watching and then turns in the direction of the inner chamber. Mother Talzin was with the group that left, which likely means that no one will be near the ritual room, and Savage remembers Brother Viscus mentioning a stairway down to the holding cells from there. The holding cells and the Sisters’ chambers, but—Savage is hoping that both Feral and the Jedi Master assigned this mission will be in the cells.

His skin crawls, thinking that they might not be.

“Eyes forward, padawan,” he says gruffly.

A thin hand grabs his elbow, gripping tightly, and Anakin says mulishly, “They talk just like slavers. When Watto bought us, the broker touched Mom just like that—”

“Anakin,” Savage says quietly. “Personal feelings and experiences are valuable, but focus. This is Dathomir, and we are _trying_ to fix Dathomir’s problems.”

“They should just do what the Senate tells them,” Anakin mutters, mulish. “And the Senate should just _order_ the witches to treat everyone fairly—”

“The witches think just like that, too. That they should just say things and be obeyed,” Savage says, and Anakin's mouth closes with a snap.

There’s a fine line, Savage thinks, between too much time spent with Maul and not enough. Maul's particular version of _no one will ever have power of me, telling others what to do is an executable offense_ wouldn’t be precisely _good_ for Anakin, but it might balance out a few of his darker impulses. Savage will just…have to make sure he’s several sectors away from wherever they are, that’s all.

Still. That’s a worry for another time. For now, the stairs are ahead of them, unguarded except by a forcefield, and Savage points Anakin at it and asks, “Something you can disable?”

Without hesitation, Anakin shoves the lightsaber and cloak back into Savage’s hands and all but lunges for the control panel. Savage stops a pace back, bemused, and watches him happily pry the cover off, then twist wires up and bring a tool produced from _somewhere_ to bear. It’s particularly amusing in comparison to Maul, who pretends he isn't entirely enthusiastic about every piece of tech that crosses his field of vision. Yet another reason to jam them together unsupervised for a brief and regimented period of time, regardless of how many explosions will most certainly result.

“This whole thing is so _old_ ,” Anakin complains, thumping the bottom of the panel lightly. Green sparks spray out, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Did they have it in _carbonite_ or something?”

“Not much new tech on Dathomir,” Savage says, and deliberately tucks his lightsaber through his sash. it’s long enough that it’s obvious, but at this point they might as well be open about their intentions if they're seen. There's no mistaking Anakin with his hood back for anything but a Human, after all, and Savage should likely be grateful that he distracted the Nightsisters enough to keep them from looking too hard.

Anakin just makes a rude sound. “There’s not new and then there's _this_ ,” he says, and then, “ _Ha_ ,” as something clicks. The barrier shimmers out of existence, and Anakin rises to his feet again, looking smug.

With a snort, Savage reaches out and ruffles his hair. “Good, Ani,” he says gruffly, and Anakin flashes him that bright, little-boy smile that makes him still look like the ten-year-old Savage picked out of the crèche.

“I don’t have to put it back up behind us, right?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.

“No,” Savage says, amused. “You don’t. Eyes forward.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin says agreeably, now that there's actually something to work towards, and shoves his hood all the way back. Savage doesn’t try to protest, just keeps in front of him as they make their way down the narrow stairs. The steps open out into a wide room with deep cells set into the walls, closed off with heavy metal doors that sport barred windows, and most of them are cracked open, but two—

“You shouldn’t be down here!” a voice says, and a moment later hands close around the bars as a Nightbrother pulls himself to his feet. His skin is dusty orange and brown, heavily bruised, and two of his horns are broken, but Savage stares at him, hardly able to breathe. He looks…like Maul. More like Maul than Savage ever has. Fierce, with a thread of conviction that _burns_ , and Savage wants to close his eyes, wants to wrench the cell door off its hinges with a gesture.

“I'm right where I need to be,” he says gruffly, not able to manage more, and steps down onto the stone. “Anakin, watch the stair. Tell me if you hear anything.”

“Of course, Master.” Anakin gives him a desperately curious look, but slides back up to the bend in the staircase to station himself just out of sight of the upper floor. Savage casts one glance at him, but then tells himself to focus; Anakin is strong, and he’s gotten better at feeling for other people’s minds. If someone is coming, particularly someone Force-sensitive, he’ll feel it.

The urge to go right for Feral is strong, and Savage hesitates for a moment, conflicted. When he turns, though, it’s to find Feral watching him with something like hope rising in his expression.

“You're a Nightbrother,” he says, almost disbelieving. “You're a Nightbrother, but you're a _Jedi_.”

“My brother and I both,” Savage says, and—it makes sense that no one in the Nightbrother village talks about Plo arriving, Plo _escaping_ , Plo taking Force-sensitive males away before they could be killed. They likely aren’t allowed to. Savage remembers how strict Brother Viscus was about keeping the Nightsisters’ rules when he was there, and given how things have been changing, that’s likely only gotten stricter.

“Some of us do escape,” Feral says, and smiles. “I knew the Sisters lied, when they said none did.”

Savage takes a breath, takes a step. Another, another, until he’s across the room, and can close a hand around the bars, right beside Feral’s. there's a boot-mark on the back of Feral’s hand, and Savage has to close his eyes for a moment, even as he tips his head forward.

“Forgive me,” he says, ragged. “If I had known of you, if I had heard even a _whisper_ , I would have come back for you.”

Feral’s eyes narrow in confusion, then all at once go wide as his breath hitches sharply. He looks at Savage, like Savage is something impossible and not like Savage is the one who left him to grow up here, and for an endless moment he seems entirely speechless.

“Kycina only had sons, it seems,” Savage says quietly, and Feral’s expression twists. Slowly, carefully, he slides a hand over Savage’s, around the bars, and smiles wryly.

“But all of her sons rebelled against the Nightsisters,” he says. “I don’t think she would have minded.”

Savage’s breath is rough, but a laugh even so. He only ever saw their mother at a distance, knew she was once Mother Talzin’s favored but fell from grace, and—he would like to think she would approve of her sons becoming Jedi and the leaders of rebellions, even if she was a Nightsister herself.

“My name is Savage,” he says, and sweeps a hand down. The heavy padlock on the door wrenches out of shape, and he hauls the door open. “The Jedi Order wants to be sure you make it safely to the Senate.”

Feral takes a careful step out of the cell, and the relief is clear on his face. “I hired a contingency plan,” he says, “but seeing as he hasn’t arrived yet and the other Jedi Master is in a bad way, I'm grateful. Brother.”

Savage steps forward before he can help himself, grabs Feral and pulls him into a tight hug. Feral startles, but after an instant he hugs Savage back, arms tight. He’s strong. He’s strong and he’s _alive_ , and Savage has two brothers, and he’s never been more grateful.

“I have a ship waiting,” he says, pulling back, and Feral nods, looking grim.

“The only way out is through the front,” he says. “We’ll have to fight our way through.”

Savage grunts, and—Jedi shouldn’t _want_ violence. But he’s not precisely going to object to a fight with Nuis and her fellow guard, either. “Three Jedi against two Nightsisters,” he says. “I don’t mind those odds.”

Something hesitant and tight flickers across Feral’s features. “Maybe two,” he warns. “The Jedi they caught—he hasn’t spoken in hours, and hasn’t moved in longer.”

Savage’s heart skips, and he turns to the other door, cursing himself for getting distracted. Gestures, wrenching the lock free, and quickly drags the door open. The cell is dark, but Zabrak eyes make it simple to pick out the form curled back in the corner, dark robes pulled around him, so still it seems like he isn't even breathing.

“ _Jon_ ,” Savage says, and this time his heart turns over, a hard wrench. Last time he saw Jon Antilles was months ago, vanishing into the morning fog on the Outer Rim planet he and Anakin had been dispatched to. Savage is used to such things, after so many years, but—

Jon is very, very still in the darkness.

Grimly, carefully, Savage takes one step into the cell, and realizes with a start that pale blue eyes are open, watching him, even if Jon still isn't moving. His breath leaves him on a rush, and with a sound of irritation, he goes to one knee in front of Jon, reaching out. Jon looks oddly small stripped of his voluminous cloak, but when Savage cups his cheek, he leans into with a faint smile.

“I thought I told you Dathomir was dangerous,” Savage says gruffly, and Jon snorts.

“The Force called me here,” he says. “I answer to it, not you.”

Scoffing, Savage leans forward, gets an arm around his back and practically lifts him to his feet. Jon's hiss says he’s nowhere close to fine, but he stays upright under his own power, and Savage can't see any blood. Just a flash of silver around his throat.

“They _collared_ you,” he says, and it vibrates in his chest like a growl. Jon is the one who taught him faith in himself and his own control, when they were children, and Savage _knows_ how heavily Jon relies on his connection to the Force. No wonder he was quiet and still, if the Nightsisters cut him off from it completely.

Jon catches his hand. “Easily undone,” he says, calm. Always calm, and it makes Savage’s temper settle just a little. “I knew the risk, but.” He flicks a glance past Savage’s shoulder and smiles, just a little. “I thought I should get word to you, more than anything.”

And got himself captured for it. Savage makes a sound of irritation that’s halfhearted at best, leaning in, and it’s rare that a Human is close to his height, but Jon only has to tip his head a little to let Savage catch his mouth. In the same moment, Savage catches the collar with both hands, grips, _twists_. The metal snaps beneath his hands, and Jon gasps, jerking his mouth away. Savage drops the collar to catch his elbows, holding him up as he steadies, and then says, “Next time you want to wander into danger without help, _comm me_.”

Notably, Jon doesn’t promise anything. “My lightsaber is in that room,” he says, tipping his head at a small alcove behind the stairs, and Savage growls at him and tries to decide whether to drag Jon with him or find a spot to let him sit down while he goes to get it.

With a muffled laugh, Feral slips past them, ducking into the room himself. “Master Antilles kept our whole cell from being captured,” he says. “He brought us a warning that the Nightsisters were coming, and helped be hide the group’s tracks while they escaped.” There's a sound of shifting items, then a sound of victory, and a moment later Feral emerges with an aged bowcaster and a familiar lightsaber, the hilt made from Brylar bark. Jon takes it gratefully, nodding to him, and slides it through his sash.

Savage wants to ask if he was hurt, if the Nightsisters did anything to either Jon or Feral beyond a beating, but he holds his tongue. There's time for that later. Instead, he tips his head at Feral and says, “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Feral returns with a smile, and Savage has no idea how someone who has lived under the Nightsisters’ thumb for so long can still smile like he does, easily and openly. “I didn’t think my plan would fall through so…thoroughly.”

Savage snorts. “I,” he says, just a little pointed, “can't believe you got captured to tell me I have a brother and couldn’t even comm me directly.”

“You never gave me your comm code,” Jon says peaceably, and Savage stops short, startled to realize that…he didn’t. And Jon isn't the type who would _ask_ , of course, or go behind Savage’s back to ask for it from the Council.

Suddenly, the fact that Savage has spent _months_ mooning over his comm, waiting for a single solitary call, is both a lot more ridiculous and a lot more pathetic.

From up the stairs, there are muffled wheezing sounds, like certain nosy padawans are dying, and Savage exhales through his nose and warns, “ _Anakin_.”

Anakin wheezes more quietly, but not by much.

Feral laughs a little, and slings the bowcaster over his shoulder. “Perhaps we should leave,” he says, “and continue this outside.”

Savage scowls, but jerks his head in a nod, then slides past both Feral and Jon, taking the lead up the stairs. “Padawan,” he says pointedly. “I hope you have enough breath left to fight.”

“Of course, Master,” Anakin says, grinning. “Are you going to ask for his comm code like in the holos—”

“Guard the rear,” Savage tells him, exasperated. Anakin gives him a smirk that says this is _far_ from the last time Savage is going to be subjected to this sort of teasing, but he ducks back, falling in behind them with a hand near his lightsaber. Savage takes one moment to be sure he isn't going to get into trouble, then glances at Feral and asks, “Do you need to alert this contingency plan—”

In the distance, something explodes. Savage freezes, but in the same moment there's a Nightsister’s snarl of rage, the report of a blaster, the sound of a jetpack firing.

“Oh,” Feral says, pleased. “I guess Jango's just a little late.”

Jango. Jango _Fett_ , probably, because of _course_ one of Savage’s brothers would hire the _Mand’alor_ as a backup plan. Apparently Maul didn’t get the entirety of the family’ overdramatic tendencies.

“If Fett tries to shoot me, I refuse to be held responsible for what I do to him,” Savage growls, and it has everything to do with the fact that Jango Fett is a _bastard_ and nothing at all to do with the fact that Jango likes to remind Savage at every turn that for a while Jango was the closest thing Jon ever had to a regular lover.

Jon sighs, just a little, amused and resigned in equal measure. “I had wondered why he had disappeared from Mandalore,” he says, and draws his lightsaber. Another snarl of rage comes, and Jon vanishes into the shadows, gone without a trace even as he moves. Feral follows, picking up a run towards the entrance, and Savage breathes through his nose and pulls his lightsaber free of his sash, flipping the two-handed hilt through his fingers as he stalks towards the entrance.

“Are you sure you want to let Master Antilles get that far ahead, Master?” Anakin asks falling into step with him. He looks perfectly, impossibly innocent. “What if he leaves before you can get his comm code?”

“I,” Savage says with a growl, “will hang you from the gun turret, _padawan_.”

Anakin is still laughing at him when Nuis stumbles out of the smoke to meet them, and just for that, Savage takes maybe a little more pleasure than normal in sweeping his apprentice’s feet out from under him before he can lose his ridiculous head.

He’ll ask Plo to set Maul and Anakin a mission far, far away from Coruscant. Maybe on a desert planet. Potentially on a swamp planet. Maybe both.

Anakin is still laughing when he staggers to his feet, blue blade igniting as he grins, and Savage very pointedly keeps his eyes on Nuis and not on the flash of a green lightsaber in the smoke.

Definitely both, he thinks, and the thought is enough to make him smirk as a spear thrusts right for his face. Both Anakin and Maul will hate it. Both is _perfect_.


End file.
